


Goodbye or Good Morning

by OwenToDawn



Series: 15 Day Lyric Challenge 2020 [13]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fear Play, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Panic Attacks, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26159026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwenToDawn/pseuds/OwenToDawn
Summary: It isn't often that Claude's trauma rears its ugly head, but he supposes even he can't be immune to such things
Relationships: Cyril/Claude von Riegan
Series: 15 Day Lyric Challenge 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882966
Kudos: 21





	Goodbye or Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Today's fic is based on the lyric:
> 
> “I ain’t ever scurred, I’m not sure if that’s a word but/I mean every word/ feelin’ like ‘Do not disturb’ wait/Let me testify, I have never testified/and I’m married to my pride, I ain’t never, never cried” from Scared Of The Dark by Lil Wayne and Ty Dolls $ign. 
> 
> It's not clearly stated, but this fic takes place 3 years post canon. So Cyril is 23 and Claude is 26. 
> 
> Title from the same song
> 
> Comments are loved
> 
> I can't believe I've invented two relationship tags during this challenge y'all don't like writing about brown characters huh

Something stirs in the air, a subtle shift that years of vigilance have Claude waking from his slumber. Warm, summer air drifts through his open bedroom doors that lead to his sitting room. The doors to the outside balcony are open, but Claude remembers closing and locking them when he retired for bed. A rookie mistake. The kind of mistake someone makes when they want to get caught. Claude pulls his knife out from beneath his pillow and slips free from his bed like a whisper.

It’s a game. A dangerous one, but a game nonetheless. When he’s in the mood, Cyril breaks into the Almyran palace and finds his way into Claude’s room with all the skills Shamir’s taught him as they galivant across several continents playing Robin Hood. Sometimes he succeeds and steals something shiny and valuable to pawn off. And sometimes, when he wants something else, he lets Claude know he’s there and it’s on Claude to catch him in time. Since becoming the King, the only one to successfully make it to his quarters is Cyril. Other assassins get stopped before they can get close. It speaks to Cyril’s skills that he’s only found when he wants to be.

Claude presses himself to the wall near the open door leading to the sitting area, holding his breath and listening. Nothing. Just the occasional rustle of leaves outside from the wind. Fear pricks at the edges of his mind. Perhaps it’s not Cyril. Usually, Cyril makes some sort of noise by now, loud and apparent to reassure him. He crouches down and steals across the bedroom floor to his window, twisting the lock but catching it before it hits the window frame before letting it swing open. A soft inhale and he jumps out, twisting to hook his ankles around the balcony railing and then pulling his upper body up with his core strength and flipping up onto the balcony. From there, it’s easy to peer into the sitting room without giving himself away. All of his hard work doesn’t get him very far. No one’s there.

He slides the knife out from its sheath and sets it on the railing with a careful and silent touch. Another inhale and he rounds the corner of the open door and throws himself into the corner he couldn’t see, the corner where the intruder would have the perfect shot if he’d stepped foolishly through the door from his bedroom. Except…there’s no one there either. A brief moment of soul shattering fear washes over him and then he hears it.

 _Twang_.

A familiar sound. The sound of an empty bow string being pulled taut and released from behind him and above. He whirls around and there, tangled in the silk curtains, hangs Cyril upside down with his thighs clenched tight around the fabric and his bow in hand. His smile floods Claude’s body with relief, chasing away the adrenaline that had surged through him only moments before. Cyril releases his grip on the curtains and twists neatly to the ground, catching Claude when his knees buckle and he drops his knife.

“Fuck, shit, fuck…” Claude hisses the words out in quick succession as he clings to Cyril’s upper arms. Fuck, when did Cyril get almost as tall as him? Who grows after they turn twenty? Is he wearing lifts?

“Whoa, are you okay?” Cyril asks. “Well, uh, dumb question I guess.”

"You didn’t make a noise,” Claude gasps out, hauling himself closer as panic grips his lungs, choking him. “I thought it was real, I thought I was…fuck…”

“Oh. Oh shit. I’m sorry, Claude, I wasn’t thinking,” Cyril says, wrapping his arms tight around Claude and almost crushing him with a hug. “Are you-“

“Stop talking for a second,” Claude says, voice sharp. He presses his forehead down against Cyril’s shoulder and forces himself to breathe, noting even through his panic the way Cyril rubs his back with a motion that feels natural.

Since they’ve started with this honestly foolish game of theirs, Cyril’s gotten better at expressing casual affection. That’s not taught in Fódlan. But Claude knows Shamir and Cyril have been hanging around Almyra the last year, so doubtless some of his ease comes from that. And perhaps Claude has had an influence on him too. In the end, the why doesn’t really matter. Claude is just grateful to have someone touch him as he rides out the last of his panic.

“Okay,” Claude says, inhaling deep and then letting it out as he straightens. “I’m okay. Just follow the rules next time, okay?”

Cyril nods, a little uncertain. “I don’t feel right just leaving you now.”

"I’m not really up for our usual games,” Claude says.

“I know, I wasn’t going to suggest that,” Cyril says with a shake of his head. “But can I stay with you?”

“You don’t have to feel guilty-“

Cyril reaches out to cover Claude’s mouth with his hand. “Nobles. Always putting emotions and feelings on me that I’m not feeling. I’m not saying it because I’m guilty. I just want to make sure you feel safe, especially after spooking you like that.”

And because Claude is still a child inside sometimes, King or not, he licks Cyril’s hand to make Cyril jerk his hand away with a disgusted noise. “I’m not a horse. I’m not spooked.”

"You don’t have to pretend to be tough around me. I thought by now I’d have earned that much at least.”

Which…Cyril had, hadn’t he? Over the last few years after the war, he’d grown well. Grown away from the man who was devoted to the church and into the man who saw its corruption instead. He’d spent nights in Claude’s bed and days with him learning the Almyran customs he’d left behind, apprehensive at first but letting Claude chip away at his hard exterior to reach the person beneath it. And Cyril had done the same for him. When he’s with Cyril, he doesn’t have to be King.

“Can we…I’d still like to do things with you, I just don’t want it to be with all the fighting beforehand,” Claude says.

“The fighting is for the adrenaline rush, right?” Cyril says. He grins. “Makes the sex better.”

And usually it does. Usually, he’ll catch Cyril and they’ll wrestle their way through Claude’s quarters and into bed where the adrenaline turns from half-hearted violence into enthusiastic pleasure. It’s fun because the danger is never real. But tonight…tonight the danger had felt quite real.

“It can still be good without it,” Cyril says. “I’ll make you feel safe instead.”

Claude is used to being the one to lead the encounters, though whether he’s the one being fucked or doing the fucking varies depending on their mood. It’s different, being kissed and led with a gentle touch back to his bed. He tries to ignore the way his hands still tremble a bit from the remnants of his panic, pulling away his clothes before reaching for Cyril’s, but his fingers struggle with the buttons and clasps.

Cyril kisses him and pushes his hands away, distracting him with the way his tongue moves against Claude’s as he handles the buttons himself. It’s hard to push away the feeling of inadequacy. He’s supposed to be better than this, stronger than this, he shouldn’t be the one giving in so easily to his trauma, but as hard as he judges himself, he can tell from the way Cyril touches him that he’s not being judged by anyone else. Cyril finishes stripping them both and pushes Claude up onto his bed before slipping on top of him.

He’s stronger than Claude now. His muscles are larger, thick, and Claude clutches at them as Cyril rolls their hips together, reassuring himself that it’s okay to let go when he has someone like Cyril to catch him. He gasps out Cyril’s name as Cyril presses teasing kisses to his neck, teeth scraping against his collarbone. The light touches send flashes of teasing pleasure skittering across his skin, rolling together and magnifying as Cyril continues to kiss and nip at his neck and collarbone.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Cyril murmurs against his ear. “You’re okay. Do you need me stop?”

Claude drags in a rough breath, suddenly aware of the tears that have escaped the corners of his eyes. “No it’s good, it’s just…it’s just so much…”

“How?” Cyril asks. He kisses Claude’s jaw and rubs his thumb over one of his nipples which just makes Claude squirm beneath him. “Tell me how.”

“You feel safe,” Claude says, squeezing his eyes shut. The hand at his nipple slides down to grasp his cock instead and Claude cries out, hips jerking up into the touch. “I feel safe with you.”

“Good, you should,” Cyril says. “I feel safe with you too. So let me take care of you.”

Claude digs his fingers into Cyril’s shoulders and nods. “Please. Please…”

“I’ve got you.”

He takes a deep breath and lets Cyril catch him.


End file.
